The Gritty Truth (The Whiskeys Dark Knights at Peaceful Harbor #7) - Melissa Foster Page 0,9
didn’t remember.” She lifted her eyes and said, “He was one of the guys my boyfriend had pimped me out to. He said we had sex dozens of times. I knew I had lost memories and time when I was using, but it brought it all to the surface, making me wonder how many other men I’d been with, how many hours, weeks, and months I’d lost track of. I used drugs for five years, almost to the day, believe it or not. That’s about forty-three thousand eight hundred hours, and yes, I calculated it. I can say with great certainty that I can’t recall the majority of those hours.”
There were no flinches, gasps, or comments. There were no judgments. Drug addiction was ruthless, and the people there were all fighting similar battles. Quincy couldn’t help but wonder what Roni’s reaction would be if she was there. He quickly pushed those thoughts out of his head, wanting to keep even thoughts of her away from the ugliness of drugs.
“Those hours are my brass ring,” Simone said. “I want to get to a point where I can say I’ve been clean longer than I was using, and I want to remember every minute of it…”
As Simone went on with her story, Quincy remembered his first few weeks after rehab, which had passed in a blur of NA meetings, self-doubt, and loathing warring with confidence and determination and hundreds of unanswerable questions. But probably the worst parts of those, and many other weeks, were the daily looks in the mirror, the accepting of responsibility for the pain he’d caused, and the deep-seated fear and hope he’d seen in his brother’s and friends’ eyes. He’d seen those same things in his own eyes. Thank God Roni never saw me like that. Quincy was one of the lucky ones. He had, and continued to have, unrelenting support from Truman, the Whiskeys, and the rest of their friends, giving him plenty of reasons to fight for a better life. But he often wondered how people battled the beast without those pillars of support.
“Hour by hour,” Simone said, as if she were answering his question. “That’s what I tell myself. When I think about how many years I wasted, too high to think or feel or speak, it just…” Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she looked at Quincy.
He nodded his encouragement, though he wanted to embrace her and let her know she had what it took to stay clean. Quincy knew how important hugs and encouragement were, both of which had disappeared from his life after Truman had gone to prison. These last two years of his recovery, Quincy had greedily accepted and happily doled out as many as he could. But this wasn’t a group of friends chatting or a therapy session. It was Simone’s turn to share her painful experiences and try to find her way through them, and in doing so, she might also help others. While hugs were encouraged, members were asked to save conversations and comments for after the meetings, which was exactly what Quincy would do.
“I don’t want to go back to being the person I was, and I’m not sure who I’m supposed to become. But I’m going to figure it out,” Simone said more confidently. “Thank you.”
Jacob, the guy sitting next to her, reached over and embraced her, patting her back supportively.
Quincy glanced at the clock and said, “We’re out of time. I’d like to thank everyone who shared tonight. When you walk out that door, remember the reasons you walked through it. The only person who can change your life is the one in the mirror, but you don’t have to do it alone. If you feel yourself slipping, lean on your sponsors. That’s what we’re here for. There’s a list of daily meeting locations on the table. You can do this, but you have to want it.” He pushed to his feet, and everyone else followed, holding hands and bowing their heads as they said the Serenity Prayer.
When they were done, a couple of people left without a word; others thanked Quincy as he put away the chairs, and then they headed outside, where he knew they would linger and talk as late as they could. For people in recovery, too much downtime or time alone opened dangerous doors, behind which the beasts were clawing to get through.
“You did good tonight, Sims. I’m proud of you,” Quincy said as she put on her coat. “How’d